Shattered
by clanmalfoy
Summary: iDraco found himself enveloped in a tight embrace. "You're bnotb alone."i A story of overcoming loss in the same story arc as Worth Any Price. DG.


**A/N:** Much love and thanks to Mynuet and Kaz for betaing this story, and to Savannah, Thalia, Calla, Pud, and Anni for the encouragement.

Ginny set down the novel she'd picked up in an attempt to find distraction and looked at the clock on the mantel. Lust on the Quidditch Pitch, which she might have termed "deliciously raunchy" at any other time, had only managed to kill forty-five minutes. Under normal circumstances, she'd laugh at the horrible euphemisms for male and female genitalia, but her mind refused to stray far from her mother and brother.

And her heart was in London.

She rose from the settee, placed invitingly in front of the fireplace in the small study. Picking up the book that had utterly failed her in her time of need, she made her way to Lethoireach's master suite, hoping that a soak in the elegant bath would relax her before Draco arrived home.

She was greeted upon entering the room by the _crack_ of house-elf Apparation. "What can Libby do for Miss?" the small creature asked stiffly.

"I would very much like to take a bath," Ginny said in reply, the low-level fatigue which had been her constant companion of the past several days making itself evident in her voice.

The elf's eyes glimmered with her desire to be useful. "Libby will prepare it for you," she said in as formal a tone as any house-elf could manage, and hurried through the doorway to the master bath.

Ginny sighed as she reached for the robe she'd laid claim to in Draco's sizeable armoire. While not as thoroughly awful as Kreacher had been, Libby had also been schooled in the doctrines of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black ... and as a result, very slow to warm to Ginny. Only a direct order from the Young Master -- and probably a threat of ironed hands besides, though she'd not been privy to _that_ conversation -- had been enough to encourage Libby's courtesies to extend to the Young Master's girlfriend, horrid red-haired blood-traitor brat that she was.

She shook her head as she shed the jeans and turtleneck she'd been wearing to lounge about the house in, and slipped the expanse of grey satin around her shoulders, tying the sash loose at her waist. It had been a very bad few days, indeed, if she should catch herself channelling the thoughts of house-elves.

She padded silently into the bath. The large sunken tub was full of steaming water and irridescent bubbles; a pile of white, fluffy towels sat folded on a low bench. The room was otherwise empty, with no sign of Libby.

Ginny glanced in the mirror, and cast a quick charm to hold her hair up off her neck. "That style suits you much better," the mirror murmured softly.

Well, at least the mirror had seen which way the winds were blowing, and had chosen to be civil.

She untied the knot at her waist, and let the robe slip into a puddle of grey satin at her feet before stepping cautiously into the bath. Heat and moisture seeped into her skin, slowly dissipating the tension in her frame, and she took several deep breaths as she leaned back against the cool marble.

With the tension, so went the tight restraint she'd used to keep her emotions in check. Tears spilled down her cheeks, first singly and in pairs, then in rivulets, tracing their way from eyelashes to chin. Ginny didn't have the energy for wailing and sobbing, only lying quietly in the warmth, remembering, mourning, and missing her mother and brother more than she could possibly express to anyone.

Libby had done her job well; the heating charm on the water remained steady, and it was only the skin on her fingers wrinkling that spoke to the passage of time. Ginny finally stood up and reached out for the topmost towel on the stack, also charmed warm to stave off the relative chill of the air, and drew it around her body. The droplets on her legs cooled quickly away from the heat of the bath, and she rushed through drying off so that she might find something warmer to wear.

A quick raid on Draco's pyjama drawer yielded the grey drawstring pyjama pants that matched the robe she'd worn into the bath and a Falcons jumper. Thus clad, once again feeling warm and, for the first time all day, relaxed, Ginny risked another glance at the clock.

Draco wasn't expected home for another hour at the least. Plenty of time for a wee bit of a nap, she thought, sinking down onto the duvet and pulling the chenille throw at the end of the bed up over her body and around her shoulders.

Draco Apparated into Lethoireach's foyer, a stony expression on his face. Amos Diggory had given him a week's leave from the Ministry; he'd intended to spend the time with Ginny, not thinking that he would be called upon to testify at his own father's trial before the full Wizengamot.

He cast his traveling cloak aside, and went in search of the one good thing left in his life. He'd left her in the garden that morning; when she'd found out that he'd been requested to appear, she'd offered to go to London with him. He'd kissed her gently, pulled her close, and asked her to stay home ... this was certainly just to be a preliminary hearing, and he didn't want to subject her to the crush of Wizarding London while she was still recovering from the shock of her family's loss.

The memory of her whispered reply caused an ache in his chest. "Call me if you need me," she'd murmured, looking up into his eyes and holding him tight.

Well, he needed her now. He strode purposefully down the hallway to the study where she could usually be found with some utter waste of parchment, but the room was devoid of life. He briefly entertained the thought that she was still outside with the roses, but night had well fallen on this part of England, so close to the Scotland border.

He could at least divest himself of his formal work robes before performing a thorough search of the manor. Draco returned to his bedroom, intent on a black turtleneck and casual trousers -- perfectly suited to his mood -- only to discover the object of his search curled up on his bed.

The flames of the few candles alight in the room wavered in the draft caused by the door's opening, and the light flickered over the auburn hair draped across his pillows. Her skin was extremely pale in the weak illumination, paler than it had been when he'd left in the morning. Concerned that she'd taken ill but reluctant to wake her, he took a few quiet steps toward the bed.

She raised her head off the pillow after the first, and glanced in the direction of the door. "Draco," she breathed in recognition, and pushed the throw aside. Standing, she met him halfway across the room, her hands outstretched, her arms encircling him, pulling him into an embrace that he would never have asked for, but which she must have known instinctively that he needed.

He swallowed, his mouth feeling like a jarvey's nest. His lips opened to speak, but damned if he could think of anything to say that wouldn't sound ridiculous. He nestled his face in her hair instead, breathing in her scent and willing his breathing to calm.

She evidently picked up on his distress, however. "Are you all right?" she queried, pulling back only enough to look up into his face, her concern radiating from clear brown eyes.

"Fine," he replied. He could tell immediately that she wasn't convinced of that; her arms tightened around him, and she pressed her cheek to his chest.

"How did it go?" she asked quietly.

_Fine, everything's just fine._ Draco wanted to say something glib, something that would prove he was completely unaffected by what he'd witnessed and been party to in the depths of the Ministry, but he just couldn't summon the callousness to do it. "I don't want to talk about it," he replied instead, in a tone that sounded more tired than tough.

Ginny nodded. "You don't have to," she murmured against his chest; he could feel the vibrations of her speech through his robes and dress shirt. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, thankful that after the past few days she could understand his reticence. His thoughts wandered, and he was brought back to the present only when he felt small hands push the pinstriped robes off his shoulders.

"Do you want to have dinner? I could speak with Libby," the witch before him began softly, but he shook his head. Dinner in the formal dining room would be nice, and normal, but just at that moment he wasn't sure if anything would ever feel normal again.

"I don't feel like it." He glanced down into Ginny's face, and he felt as though she could see right through to his soul, as small and flawed as it was. "I don't want to think about it," he blurted. "I don't want to think about _anything._"

Her arms dropped from around his waist, and for the space of three heartbeats he felt as though he'd lost everything. Then one warm hand grasped one of his, and pulled him in front of the imposing armoire.

He blinked at her in confusion. "What are you doing?" he queried, but her only answer was a stern look leveled at him -- the kind of look that said _shut your gob and don't ask any questions_. Instead she swung open the armoire's doors and rummaged around for several moments. When she turned back to face him, her arms were laden with another pair of his pyjama pants. She set the garment on the corner of his bed and brought her hands to the buttons of his dress shirt.

"Ginny--"

"Shhh," she murmured, nimble fingers pushing buttons through buttonholes. "Let me."

He watched her face as she concentrated on the task at hand. White teeth crimped the rosy flesh of her lips, and her eyes focused solely on the tiny pearl buttons as she freed them from their captivity. He felt her fingers brush his chest and stomach through the weave of his oxford, and by the time she tugged his shirttails from his trousers with a subdued look of accomplishment on her face, his nerves had conjured up the first stirrings of anticipation.

She tossed the shirt on the same chair she'd lain his work robes over, and then glanced up into his face. "Kick your shoes off."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, kick your shoes off." Draco saw a glimmer of mischief in Ginny's eyes. "I would remove your shoes for you, but I don't need you getting any ideas."

Even after everything he'd witnessed that day, he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Demanding bint," he mumbled, and knelt down to untie and remove the offending footwear. Just because she had Plans for him didn't mean that he had to scuff the backs of his shoes.

Once he'd removed both shoes and socks, he glanced up at the witch before him, and was taken aback at the look of unchecked concern on her face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been the target of such honest emotions, and he fought back the automatic accusation of pity he'd have surely leveled not all that long ago.

It had no place in ... this, whatever they had. Instead, he straightened to his full height and let Ginny clasp his hand in hers. "What next, witch?" he murmured.

She wordlessly retrieved the pyjamas she'd set aside with her other hand and drew him into the master bath. She released his hand only to take her wand from the pocket of her own pyjamas and mutter the charm that conjured a bath full of steaming water and bubbles, not unlike the bath Libby had provided for her earlier. "You're very tense," Ginny said quietly. "This will help."

Draco wondered how in bloody hell she knew that, but then realized she'd been touching him, in short handclasps and brushes of fingertips, almost since he walked through the door to the master suite. He stared at the bath for several seconds, watching the bubbles float in silence before letting the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "All right."

She set the pyjamas she'd selected for him on the bench next to the towels, and turned to exit the bath. "Where are you going?" he queried.

Ginny gave him a tiny smirk. "You're a grown-up, Malfoy. Certainly you know how to bathe yourself?"

He looked at her for a long moment with an expression he had it on good authority she couldn't resist. "But what if I drown?"

The smirk on her face eased into the tiniest of smiles. "You won't drown, Draco," she said softly, crossing the room to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek before disappearing back through the door. He briefly considered abandoning the bath and giving pursuit, but the warmth radiating from the water was too enticing. There would be time for Ginny-torment later.

He removed the remainder of his clothing and slipped into the bath, settling against the marble with a sigh. She had been right; he could feel the tension between his shoulders easing as the water lapped against his skin. He closed his eyes and sunk further into the water, silently lamenting the lack of a certain red-haired witch to keep him company.

Draco hadn't heard her approach, only becoming aware of her presence when she stepped into the bath and disturbed the water's calm surface. He waited until she'd stopped moving and settled next to him before opening one eye and acknowledging her presence. "You'd have missed me if I'd drowned."

Ginny sighed. "Yes, Malfoy, I do believe I would have."

He reached for her, circling her waist with one arm and drawing her close. He lowered his face to her hair as she maneuvered between his legs and settled against his chest. "I missed you," he murmured hazily.

"I did offer to go with you," she whispered, her breath tickling the skin over his heart.

"I didn't think it would ..." he started to comment, but his voice failed him. He tried again. "Whatever I was expecting, today certainly wasn't it."

She nodded, the motion causing her hair to brush against his lips. "I'm sorry."

He stilled for a moment at the simple expression. When he spoke, his tone was pained. "Ginny, I know that there's no love lost between you and my father. You don't have to pretend."

"Pretend what, Draco? You're right, I don't like your father. But I do love you," she said softly, "and I don't like seeing you hurt."

Ginny's declaration undid him. He pulled her tightly against him and buried his face in her hair, trying desperately to reclaim control over his breathing before anything even remotely resembling a sob could escape. He felt her arms encircle his waist and her lips press a kiss to his chest.

_Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._

"I know you don't want to talk about it right now," Ginny said softly. "But --"

"It was a full trial before the Wizengamot, Gin," Draco said abruptly. "It wasn't a preliminary hearing at all." She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows so that she could look him in the eye, and he swallowed before delivering the final result. "My father has been exiled."

He saw her eyes widen, and he could sense that it wasn't the news she'd been expecting at all. "Exiled?"

"And my mother, instead of remaining in Britain, has elected to go with him." His tone grew bitter. "Because, of course, there was nothing worth staying for."

He suddenly found himself enveloped in a tight embrace. "That's not true," Ginny said sharply.

"Then why did she leave me alone?" he challenged, his throat tightening up again at the memory of his mother standing in that empty courtroom, delivering the news.

"She didn't leave you alone," Ginny mumbled into his skin. "You're _not_ alone."

Draco looked at the redheaded witch sharing his bath. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment -- an apology, perhaps, for insinuating that Ginny was of no importance; or a fervent thanks to whatever deity was listening that she stayed with him. With all the words jockeying for preeminence on his tongue and none of them slipping past his lips, he did the only thing he was capable of.

He reached out an unsteady hand to lift her chin, and pressed his lips to her mouth.

It was, without a doubt, the most gentle kiss they'd ever shared. Her lips parted under his own, and he slipped his tongue past them, more out of a need to be tangled with her, inseparable from her, than of any grand and frenzied passion. His hands cradled her, one at the small of her back, the other at the back of her neck; she'd lifted one of her own hands to tangle in his soft blond locks, while the other scrabbled for purchase at his hip.

He explored the heat of her mouth thoroughly, deliberately, their tongues moving together achingly slowly. When the need for air forced him to break off the kiss, he was stunned to notice the tears on her cheeks. "Did I hurt you?" he queried, his eyes reflecting the concern in his voice.

"No," Ginny replied tremulously, an attempt to smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "I just ... need you here. Close."

Draco thought he knew exactly what she meant. It wasn't so much a statement of intent as it was the unspoken hope that if perhaps he could just crawl into her skin, the fact that an entire part of his identity had been ripped away wouldn't hurt so damned much. He pressed his lips to her cheeks, tasting her tears on his lips.

When he moved to rise from the bath, she whimpered. "Not going far," he murmured gently, and kissed her forehead before stepping from the tub and reaching for the stack of fluffy towels. He wrapped one around his waist with the speed of one long accustomed to changing in locker rooms, reached into his discarded trousers for his wand, and then took a second towel in hand.

"C'mere," he said softly, holding one hand toward the witch in the bath. Once Ginny had risen to her feet, he wrapped her slender body in the expanse of white terry and pulled her into his arms. He scooped her up, and carried her to bed.

The bedlinens had been turned down -- _meddlesome elf_ -- and so he set his armful of curvy redheaded witch down so that she could burrow under the duvet. Muttered charms and wand-waving locked and warded the door to the suite and extinguished several of the candles in the room, leaving only a few to illuminate the room softly. Satisfied, he let the towel around his waist flutter to the floor, and sank down on the bed next to Ginny.

He pulled her body close, and then tugged the duvet up around their shoulders. She slipped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his chest, directly over his heart. He stroked her hair from crown to ends, kissing the very top of her head, trying to focus solely on the comfort her presence in his arms gave him.

Until he felt lips press against his collarbone. That one touch sent a tremor down his spine, and his heart beat a triphammer rhythm against his ribs. "Ginny --"

"I need you," she murmured again, in that voice which bespoke of the loss she'd suffered. He couldn't begrudge her comfort, not when the pair of them were in the same drifting lifeboat, and she was possibly the only person in Wizarding Britain at that moment who cared to understand his pain -- who cared _about_ his pain.

"Shh," he murmured, just before pressing his lips to hers and letting a hand trace the line of her spine from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. He kissed her thoroughly, each caress of her tongue against his own heightening his arousal.

Ginny's fingers were trailing mindless patterns across his skin, moving from the unblemished spot between his shoulderblades, down his side past his hip, across his thigh; they brushed against his hardness, and he drew a sharp breath. His eyes flew open abruptly, and he stared at her face, trying to gauge her reaction. She said nothing, but settled back against his pillows, her warm brown eyes issuing a wordless invitation.

He moved with the grace that Seekers were known for, supporting his weight with his arms as he settled in the cradle of her thighs, lowering his head to hers for more languid kisses. "Is this what you had in mind?" he murmured as he nipped gently at her lower lip.

Her answer slipped out with her breath, barely audible. "Yes." She slipped her arms around his waist and he sank into her, the warmth and constriction threatening to overwhelm his senses completely. He rested his forehead against hers for several moments, snaking his arms around her shoulders, letting the intimacy of their embrace seep into his soul.

He'd never experienced the like. They moved together slowly, deliberately; her hands at his hips, holding him tightly, little moans issuing from her throat when he would withdraw for another gentle thrust. With each passing moment, it became more and more difficult to tell where his emotions ended, and hers began.

He kissed her deeply, possessively, when her body intimated the growing tension in her centre, her hips rising slightly to meet his, her muscles starting to flutter around him. The rhythm of his thrusts quickened instinctively, and the force with which her entire being clenched as she reached her climax drew him with her into oblivion. He pulled her tightly to him as he spilled into her, murmuring her name mindlessly over and over.

It was as though her release had opened the floodgates; the sharp cry of his name on her lips had been followed by one rasping sob, then another, and another. He looked down upon her face in shock, for several seconds wondering if he'd hurt her, until the reality of the situation penetrated the post-coital haze in his brain.

He moved to withdraw, not wanting to crush her with his weight, but was stopped by her hands on his arms. "Don't!" she cried sharply. A sniffle, and then softer, "Don't leave."

His heart constricted painfully at the distress in her voice. "All right," he murmured softly. Several moments' thought and some careful maneuvering had Ginny collapsed over his chest, hot tears spilling over her cheeks and onto his skin as she wept. He buried his face in her hair and wrapped his arms about her shoulders as he kissed the crown of her head gently.

Draco had not seen her cry so since ... actually, ever, he reflected, but especially not in the three weeks since she'd roused from unconsciousness after the grand battle that had ended the Dark Lord's life. The fact that she was opening up to him, _grieving_ with him, and not any of her red-headed family, gave some comfort to the heart his mother had so callously shattered. He brushed his lips over her hair again and tightened his embrace.

He held her until she fell asleep, exhausted from weeping, her cheeks still wet with her tears. He tugged the duvet up around them, a shield against the rest of the world, and kissed her temple before dropping his head to the pillow and letting merciful unconsciousness sweep over him.


End file.
